Three Years
by UbholySpectacle
Summary: After the war, Hermione Granger finds something she shouldn't. Keeping it was a mistake; using it was something else entirely. SS/HG, EWE, One-shot. Slightly PWP.


Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and am making no money from this.

~~~~~HG*****HG~~~~~

From the personal Journal of Hermione Granger, Mistress of Potions and Charms

This entry is an account of those events that happened in England just prior to my apprenticeship, specifically those involving Severus Snape.

~~~~~HG*****HG~~~~~

I think it's safe to say that the war changed me. I was a cautious witch, before. A rule-follower. Yes, I took risks, and some horribly dangerous, but my motivation was always to help my friends, or to battle for a higher cause; to stand against bigotry. These were the things that drove me, and, having chosen a side, I was caught up in the current.

Still. Those events don't speak to my overall nature. If I had never received a Hogwarts letter, it's almost certain that I would be working with my parents in their dental surgery. I wouldn't have joined the armed forces. Likely I would have gotten married to a fellow dental student, gone to work, and had a couple of kids who I prided on being remarkably early readers.

Of course, I am a witch. The war did happen. My parents don't have a practice; they're no longer dentists. And all of this changed me somehow, in ways that, when the war ended, I was only just beginning to understand.

Even now, three years past Hogwarts, slightly older and with a dual Potions/Charms Mastery behind me, I'm still not sure what made me so reckless. Was it frustration with my erstwhile could-be boyfriend? The night I started the potion was also the night that Ron—never the most subtle or sensitive—brought another witch from back to Grimmauld Place.

~~~~~HG*****HG~~~~~

In Ron's defense, I suppose he didn't expect me to be there. I was visiting Harry; Ron had he no way to know.

In his prosecution, it wasn't that unusual for me to visit. His carelessness was very likely deliberate.

Whatever Ron's reasoning (or lack thereof), I wasn't heartbroken. It was clear to both of us by that point there was no romantic relationship to be had (at least not one that didn't end with the use of Unforgivables). If anything, seeing Ron stumble through the floo half-pissed with another woman's lipstick smeared on his neck simply liberated me to do what I'd been yearning to already.

Of course, I still hexed him, and in an area that—barring his 'date' being a Charms Mistress—very much guaranteed Ron would be sleeping alone.

I left Harry, who was grimacing in sympathy at the ominously enlarged and writhing state of Rhis roommate's privates. Ron's sleepover plans weren't looking promising. His visitor was staring in a kind of mesmerized horror. Not a Charms Mistress, then. I ruthlessly quashed my guilt in the face of Ronald's somewhat-higher-pitched-than-normal yelling. I'd put up with far too much from him through the years. I may have been able to be philosophical about the whole thing, but that didn't mean there weren't consequences.

Looking back, what happened with Ron that night was simple and explainable. What happened later … that was … a bit murkier.

Leaving Grimmauld Place that night. I felt overwhelmed by a heady, noxious cocktail of emotions. Frustrated. Angry. And strangely desperate, although for what I couldn't have said.

So I can't claim in honesty that I only began the potion out of curiosity. Yes, I had a genuine desire to research the effects of Professor Snape's secret wartime potion. Of course I did. But I wanted to research so many things; I had new ideas for experiments all the time; I kept an extensive scroll detailing items one through five hundred and twenty-four tucked in my laboratory desk drawer (at present writing, three years and twenty-eight days after the night in which I began the potion, I've only made it through the first three hundred).

No, it wasn't intellectual curiosity. If it were, it is obvious that I could have accomplished this without such an elaborate charade.

And, more to the point, without engaging in such risky behavior.

~~~~~*HG****HG~~~~~

Looking around my small student quarters here in France, this space of which I have grown so fond, I see most of my belongings nearly packed away in preparation for my return to England.

One of the smaller boxes is labelled, simply, 'Snape.' It contains research clippings and potions articles. He entered quite a period of activity around the time I left for France, especially in the field of transfiguration potions. Animal. Human. Quite interesting, really.

There are some news stories saved in that box, as well. After I left, the Potions Master started being seen in public with witches. One after another, never the same woman twice. His companions have had dark and light skin, brown and blue eyes. A variety, really.

But somehow, no matter their other differences, they all seem to have the same sort of long, curly brunette hair.

It's a message, of course. Nothing that man does is ever without reason. He's taunting me. The problem is, I have absolutely no idea what to do about it.

Perhaps it is good that I write this now, before I see him again. To go over what happened so that I don't make any stupid mistakes. Like taking him up on his offer. Nothing good could come from being intimate with Severus Snape.

And I'll just keep telling myself that, until I believe it.

~~~~~HG*****HG~~~~~

I would like to say my actions could have been the result of boredom. I was so thrilled to be a student again, at first, even if it was a little strange after everything that had happened. I was the only one of our friends to go back to Hogwarts. I was, it must be admitted, only loosely tied to the castle's schedule. They were very generous with me. I lived at my parent's (former, never sold) residence and travelled to Hogwarts daily by floo to consult with the professors on my independent study projects and revise for my N.E.W.T.s.

After being on the run with Harry, and the Battle of Hogwarts, I wanted my life to be normal again. Or at least I thought I did. It wasn't, of course. The other students whispered about me. I found myself fighting off strange surges of adrenaline, compulsions to run breakneck or pull out my wand. I would have to stop in the hallways to take deep breaths. In through my nose, out through my mouth. Over and over.

I took to seeking out controlled risks, in order to let off some of the tension I was constantly feeling. I went snowboarding, learned to ride a motorcycle. When those began to lose their excitement, I tried skydiving. Base-jumping. I could apparated almost anywhere, and, thanks to the Ministry's Order of Merlin pension, I had plenty of money.

It all helped, but only for a while. None of my friends approved, but I ignored them. For whatever reason, it was what I, who was usually the voice of reason, needed. Craved.

But during the week, I was at Hogwarts, finishing up my degree. I didn't feel like a child any longer, and yet I carried the trappings: uniform, bookbag, a school full of teachers.

The professors treated all of the eighth year students differently, even if I was an extreme example. I didn't blame Harry for not returning. He wasn't ever the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Scholar. And he would have felt very strange being back at Hogwarts. (Not to mention, the professors. How does one give detention to a man to whom you may owe your life? 3,000 points to Gryffindor, Harry, for defeating the Dark Lord.)

I should note that doesn't mean I excuse Harry skipping his N.E.W.T.s, of course. In my opinion, that was just negligent.

I digress.

I suppose all of my behavior could have been caused by stress from the war, or the after-effects of untreated psychological trauma. PTSD, perhaps. We—that is, Harry, Ron, and myself—had all been through too many funerals. Had given too many eulogies. Endured too many newspaper and magazine articles. _Is an announcement in the works for Brainger Granger and Hunky Auror Weasley? Boy-Who-Lived heartbroken but brave!_

Whatever the reason—and does it matter, really? One evening, in the year after the war, at the very end of my Hogwarts career, I did something … slightly out of character.

The potion was stolen, of course. I found it hidden, quite carefully, in an old, battered copy of _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ on a certain spy's bookshelf. I thought he was dead, you see, and I was heartbroken. I thought of him quite the tragic hero. Oh, the cruelty of war and all that.

I suppose I shouldn't mock myself … it would have been a loss. He is brilliant, of course. A brilliant bastard.

So, I mourned him, and I snooped. I broke into his quarters (not easy, at all). I wandered around, shamelessly taking in personal details. I went through his bookshelves, handled one of his Muggle books … out it slipped.

A small, rectangular scrap of paper. A shopping list (until you took of the charm).

He still sought to hide its significance, which meant it was important. It was labelled "for acne scars." The ingredients were listed in a five-digit cipher that utilized Muggle maths no self-respecting wizard would ever be caught dead learning.

I think we can skip forward, don't you?

I read it, copied it, returned it, and never spoke of it to him, not even when I learned of his survival. Why would I? I'm an honest witch, but I can honestly say he was a total sadist to me throughout my school years.

Besides, it was a very useful potion, indeed. And you never know, do you?

So, on the night I left Ron, I made the potion. I made it, I tended it, and, thirty days later, standing over my sturdy home cauldron, I measured out a single, shining dose. I stared at it. Smelled it. Fingering the hair I had collected contemplatively. I knew what I was about to do was a Very Bad Idea.

It reminded me of the first time I had gone base jumping, how I had been so frightened on the way down, how that feeling had enfolded me so completely that my brain, for once, went totally and blissfully silent. If I did this, I hoped to feel that same empty, absorbing sensation. To lose myself completely.

My heart pounded as I swallowed the dose.

It worked, of course.

(It still tasted like a dog's wet anus, though. He couldn't have done something about the flavor?)

~~~~~HG*****HG~~~~~

That night, I found myself, not _quite_ myself, sitting alone in a nightclub owned by, and catering to, pureblood wizards of extensive funds but questionable repute. That is to say, the Malfoys owned it and the Ministry had overlooked it in their reparations. Kingsley was soft on them, it must be admitted, but I suppose he had his reasons.

I'd always been curious about the place. It was everything I wasn't: entitled, steeped in magical history, male.

Having a new face, a new body … well.

Inside _The Wicked Warlock_,I slid onto a barstool in a shadowed corner, sipping my drink and seeing how the bigoted half lived. The room I was in was far larger than the outside dimensions of the building should allow, and lavishly decorated in brocade, leather, and Gothic stained glass. Private booths with drapes lined the walls. The whole of the space smelled of cigar smoke, whiskey, and dead cow. I found it entirely appealing, and a small knot of tension tightened in the pit of my stomach.

I took a deep breath. For the first time since the war, I felt … calm. Grounded.

No, it would have been a lie to say that my presence there was purely experimental in nature.

To distract myself from a sudden feeling that there might be something deeply wrong with my brain, I took in the clientele. There were several wizards, but only a few witches, and those females I saw were on the arms of wizards. Doubtless pureblood witches found it vulgar to frequent a place such as this without male escort.

I smiled to myself. Their loss.

Merlin, I thought, I really was fucked up, wasn't I?

I took a gulp of my wine (elf-made, sparkling) and calculated. It had been thirty minutes since I took Snape's person-morphing acne potion. It lasted five hours. Plenty of time to get what I wanted.

I was in the body of a Muggle stripper for the evening. Turning into someone in the Wizarding World was far too dangerous. Besides, it was a win-win. For a few stray hairs, she got cash, and I received a body that could, presented properly, make grown men weep.

Seeing yet another black-clad wizard catch sight of me in my corner and do a double-take, I was grateful that I had overlooked my morals and gone through Snape's things. (Of course, the fact that I had been so underhanded had led me to the Death Eater bar, so I suppose there's a lesson on slippery slopes and morals in there somewhere.)

In my defense, if I had known he was alive … but his is my diary. I should be honest. There's no one to judge me.

I wanted to know what he knew. I wanted to crawl inside his brain and roll around for a while., I wanted to absorb his knowledge, fill myself full with all of the things he knew, stuff myself with his every experience.

In short, I had an imaginary sexual relationship with Snape's brain.

If there had been any chance of him taking on me as an apprentice, if he would have spoken to me outside class hours, Maybe …

But I knew very well what my numerical odds were of obtaining any kind of regard from Severus Snape whatsoever: You could divide any number by it, and always get zero.

"Another wine?" I recognized the bartender as a minor, wanna-be Death Eater. Crookshanks had stood more of a chance of bring Marked, really. He had his eyes locked on my breasts. No subtlety whatsoever. I felt a small, scornful smile play on my lips at the thought, and nodded.

"It's on my account, William."

My head swiveled, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see the bartender—William, evidently—blanch and nod.

"Rebastan Lestrange," I murmured, eyeing him through my lashes. I recrossed my long legs and pushed my straight auburn hair over one shoulder. "And buying me a drink. How unexpected." My eyes trailed over his body. He was all long strong lines, flowing black robes, wavy hair. Well-groomed in the way that scads of money can buy you.

He was also an amoral ass who had served one of the darkest of wizards. Unfortunately, my moral compass was pointing due south at the moment. I licked my lips, contemplating. Would he fit the bill? He was an attractive wizard, and powerful. The tension in my stomach heightened.

As a trial run, I supposed he would do.

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Miss …?" His eyes were dark blue. He'd leaned in closer than was at all appropriate. I smiled slowly.

"Oh, I sincerely doubt that, Mr. Lestrange," I said in a low voice, enjoying his answering smirk. "And it's Brown. Flora Brown." He would know this was a lie, of course. Brown was the most common name in Wizarding England. I was gambling that he cared more about my assets than my bloodline.

I was right. A small smile played on his lips as he regarded me. "Well, Miss _Brown_. May I call you Flora?"

"If you wish."

"Then you should call me Rab. All of my friends do."

I gave "Rab" a tiny, naughty smile, and was rewarded by a very visible swallow. "Are we going to be friends, then, Mr. Lestrange?" In my husky sex-voice, the formal title sounded a trifle obscene.

Rabastan's pupils were blown wide. I knew I had him, and yet, he hesitated. "Are you of pure blood, Flora?"

I forced my face to remain neutral. Lestrange knew damn well I wasn't pure. I was certain he thought that "Flora" probably had a grandparent who was a Muggle, something of the sort. He just wanted to make sure no irate male relatives would be coming after him later.

I decided to play with him a little.

I leaned forward and dropped the octave of my voice. Husky. Suggestive. "Is my purity … really the subject on your mind right now, _Rab_?" I took a sip of my drink, slowly, drawing the moment out. Then I smiled again, very slightly. "Because if it is, I confess to finding myself _very_ disappointed."

To my left, I heard a wizard at the bar choking on something, and behind me the bartender dropped a glass. Rab gave me a full-throated chuckle, and shook his head as if shaking off a daze. He leaned forward, and, as he spoke, his breath caressed my ear, sending spikes of electricity down my spine. "Ah, Flora … I confess, I'm not thinking about anything very pure at all."

After that, it would have been only a matter of time. If _he _hadn't entered and spoiled everything.

~~~~~HG*****HG~~~~~

Seeing Professor Snape walk through the door with Lucius and Draco Malfoy caught my attention immediately, of course. That was only to be expected. My recent correspondence with Snape had ended on an extravagantly disastrous note. I'd spent the rest of the day after his final owl with a tub of Ben & Jerry's, a bottle of wine, and a Muggle romance novel. I'd needed the recovery: His previous letters had been cold to the point of insulting (and slightly past), but the last one erased the line between rejection and personal abuse.

Myself bring the person, of course.

I watched them over "Rab"'s shoulder. LI had a long acquaintance with Lucius and Draco, one ending with my visit with Bellatrix and relating our little chat to the Wizengamot later, at their trials.

Of course they had to walk in now—what else was new? They'd been spoiling things for me for I wanted was a rough, mindless shag from a quasi-dark wizard, and who should step in to ruin my good time but Egotism, Scorn, and Entitlement.

Still, I couldn't help the fact that my eyes wandered to them, especially to the elder of the three. I may have hated the Malfoy morals, but there was no denying that Lucius was an attractive man. In the manner of all fallen angels.

Professor Snape wore black robes that were open at the neck. I wondered if he was in pain, or if he were simply less buttoned-up outside the castle. He seemed healthy; in fact, he looked better than I could remember seeing him. I smiled around my drink, even as I was startled by someone clearing his throat next to me.

I sighed and slowly diverted my attention. Oh, yes. Rabastan was still there. How annoying

I frowned and looked away impatiently. Having seen the trio that walked in had erased my interest for Lestrange Suddenly he seemed tiresome and quite unlikely to be what I needed at all. "You can go," I said shortly.

Fine, I could have been more polite. But keep in mind, this man was a Death Eater. I didn't really feel the need to coddle his feelings.

Still, evidently he felt slighted, especially after watching me eye-strip other wizards across the room. "Excuse me?" he asked. There was a dangerous edge to his voice.

I huffed. How had I been interested in this man? Had too much _Cruciatus _during the war fried his frontal lobe? My eyes flicked back to him briefly, and I made my voice dismissive. "I said, you can leave now. I'm not interested."

Behind me, I could sense the bartender still, and the bar's other occupant slip quickly away. Even as I registered those things, and the fact that Lestrange's arm was moving to his side, I found myself on my feet and my wand thrumming with power in my hand.

LeStrange was opposite me, and he had drawn, as well, which explained my reaction. The war had made me fast, and, since then, I had worked on becoming even faster. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, and I registered everything: the otherworldly music, the sudden silence of the entire bar, the dryness of my mouth. The Malfoys and Snape had paused on their way across the floor, and, from the corner of my eye, I could see a blonde head come closer.

I tensed and raised my guard even higher. My back was to the bar. There were three exits from the building. Perhaps I could apparate, although it seemed unlikely it wouldn't be blocked in a bar like this. I was surrounded by ex-Death Eaters. What was wrong with my libido that this had seemed like a good idea?

I promised myself that, if I should get out of this, I would finally look for a good squib psychiatrist. There had to be one out there somewhere.

Lucius Malfoy approached. I tensed, and he gave me a quick, assessing glance before stopping by Lestrange. To my surprise, he carefully laid a hand on Rabastan's wand arm. I could hear Malfoy hissing something in Lestrange's ear, and, after a moment, Rebastan lowered his wand, glared at me, and stalked out of the bar. I watched him leave, but it took me a longer moment to lower my own wand.

Once I did, I swayed in my very high heels. I placed a hand on the bar to keep from losing my footing. I reminded myself that the war was over, that no one here knew who I was. I swallowed. A few more minutes to choke out the niceties, and then I could leave.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy," I murmured, shocked that those words were coming out of my mouth. The whole scene seemed suddenly surreal.

I swayed again, and found myself being escorted to a nearby booth. Snape and Draco were there, as well, and remained silent as I was seated in f the semi-circular booth and provided with a glass of water. I ignored the beverage. I was flustered, not stupid. I took a deep breath and crossed my legs.

"Do you feel better now, Miss …" Malfoy asked. His words were slightly slurred; it was clear he'd been drinking before entering the club.

"Brown. And yes." I noted his eyes watching my lips. My smile widened. "Thank you again, Mr. Malfoy."

"No thanks required, I assure you," he said. I chanced a glance over at Snape. He was watching me closely, as was Draco. I wondered why until I caught Draco's eyes flutter downward, and I remembered in whose body I was currently residing.

"You haven't had your water," Lucius said.

I looked over at him through my lashes. "No," I said sweetly. Across from me, a ghost of a smile crossed Professor Snape's lips. "but then again, I'm not an idiot."

Mr. Malfoy's eyes hardened. "Brains and beauty, how unusual," he murmured. "Even if one of them is a trifle common." Changing the subject abruptly, he said to Snape, "So don't keep me hanging. Did she reply back?" Turning to me, he smiled. "Please forgive me, Flora, but Severus and I were discussing something quite diverting when we happened upon you."

"Not at all," I said, keeping my voice pitched low. "May I ask?"

Lucius tapped his finger to his lips thoughtfully. "How familiar were you with the war, Flora?"

I shrugged uncertainly. "My relatives kept me abroad." Snape snorted, which I couldn't blame him for. It would have been my own real reaction.

"And yet you have such keen reflexes. Intriguing."

I tilted my head and licked my lips. "My mother believed in a witch being able to tend to herself. In every way."

Beside me, I heard Draco cough. It sounded a little painful.

Lucius hummed non-committally. "Are you, by any chance, familiar with the Golden Trio?" The venom in his voice was unmistakable, and I blinked. He softened his features immediately. "Excuse me, my dear. Severus understands that this subject tends to perturb me somewhat."

My interest perked. "You are forgiven, Mr. Malfoy." I pretended to think. "Those were the children who opposed the Dark Lord, were they not?"

Draco snorted, but said nothing. Lucius nodded. " The same. One of them, the female m—", he paused and coughed, "_member_, has been sending Severus owls begging him to take her on as an apprentice." He smiled slowly and tossed back his drink. "It's actually been quite entertaining to read her missives, I must say."

"Yes father, house arrest has never been so delightful," Draco said scornfully.

I could feel an incredible rage coming, just out of my reach, but I ignored it. Looking at Snape directly, I asked what I thought was a suitably Slytherin question. "Why would you turn away a war heroine? Surely she knows important people, being on the winning side."

Snape snorted. "Merlin himself could be her father, and she'd still be impossible."

Lucius chuckled. "Not likely, that. Her family is all Muggle, aren't they? Tooth removers or something equally barbaric?"

"Anyway, Severus gave the position to me," Draco said, a trifle smugly. "He's my Godfather, you see."

"But that's neither here nor there," Lucius said, waving imperiously for another drink. "As of today, we are free of home confinement and done the Ministry."

"Aside from a hundred million Galleons," Snape murmured.

Malfoy Senior shrugged, but the movement seemed forced. "But we've been rude. Tell me, Flora, how is it you're alone this evening, in this of all places?"

I was so angry that I had to concentrate to remember what he was saying. After Snape and I fought on the same side of the war, after I beat Draco year after year despite the limitations placed upon me, the professor had given a position to Draco, who could doubtless buy any other Potions Master to act as a house elf, if he only asked Daddy nicely.

I vowed then and there that I would find someone else to represent me, someone better than Severus Snape. Preferably someone who would make him cringe when he heard their name. Thinking this, I was able to smile pleasantly at Lucius.

I let my voice become teasing. "I don't know, _Lucius_, why don't you tell me? I'm sure you must have some theory."

Having someone in your mind is like the sensation that you know you've forgotten something, but you don't know what it is. I suddenly felt like I had missed something _vital_.I raised my Occlumency barriers and arched an eyebrow at Professor Snape.

Lucius took in the interaction. In the shadows of the booth, his eyes were very dark. The shadows highlighted both men's forms. "I always have theories, my dear," he said quietly, answering my question. I watched him, admiring his beauty in spite of myself.

Draco coughed again, and this time it sounded like he was covering a laugh. "I should leave," he said, standing. "Father, Godfather." He stood and gave a nod to each of them and a small smile to me.

"Give Astoria our regards," Lucius said in a bored tone, and with that, his son disappeared. As he turned away, the drapes to the booth loosened and fell partially closed, shrouding the space in shadows. From the outside, it would be almost impossible to see what was going on inside unless standing in the doorway and staring.

I considered my company, and licked my lips nervously. I was in here alone, with two former Inner Circle Death Eaters. Secret allegiances or no, both of these men had been, at one time or the other, You-Know-Who's go-to wizard. I shivered slightly at the thought, and twisted the ring on my pinky finger as I considered my next move. It was a nervous habit I'd taken up since I started wearing my mother's ring. The ruby caught the dim light as I worried it.

I saw Snape's eyes catch the movement and forced my fingers to still. "I should leave as well," I didn't want to go, but being here in the booth had given me a level of apprehension that I didn't think I could manage.

"Nonsense, my dear," Lucius said. "There's no rush, certainly?" His smile turned predatory.

"She's afraid of us, Lucius," Snape said. I realized it was the first time he'd spoken. His deep voice filled the curtained space and seemed to vibrate inside my skull for an extra few seconds. I blinked at the sensation. He bestowed me with a small, mocking smile. "Let her go."

"Oh, I'm certain she doesn't want to leave just yet, do you Flora? After all, we're just getting to know one another." Lucius never seemed to slide over, but suddenly I found that he was, abruptly, closer. One of Malfoy's hands brushed the back of my neck, and I shivered at the sensation.

"How did you do that?" I whispered. Malfoy blinked and frowned.

"Do what?"

"That … is it a charm?" I gestured toward the booth. "We weren't that close."

A small smile appeared on Professor Snape's lips. "Not quite so common as you thought, then, Lucius."

Malfoy eyed me speculatively. "You're curious," he murmured. If he had been startled, he'd recovered. "You like to know things, don't you, Flora?"

"I do," I admitted. My voice was slightly breathless, and my eyes were riveted to Malfoy's form. Snape shifted slightly across from me. I could hear the whisper of his robes as he moved. I wondered about the man underneath that robe.

I couldn't deny my fascination. My heart was racing; I felt completely alive. "I do," I said again. My voice had gone husky. "I want to know … everything."

Now I felt myself even closer to Malfoy, and it felt somehow inevitable when he leaned in. His lips brushed against my neck before moving upward, and I could feel his warm breath against the shell of my ear. His hand curled around one of my bare ivory shoulders.

"I can help you with that, Flora," he said, "as can Severus. We both understand your need, very well." His slow smile was pure sin. "We could teach you, if you like."

I looked over at Snape. His eyes were so dark and unreadable. It was impossible to see his pupils, To see if he was as affected as I was. Of the two of them, he was the one who had said the least, given me the least indication of his response to me—that was, Flora. I knew he wouldn't respond to me that way. Neither of them would. Not as I was.

A small smirk played on Snape's lips at Malfoy's words. "The real question, Lucius, is how many teachers does she want?"

And then he was suddenly right there on my other side, so close that I could smell his scent, and I didn't know if it was cologne or just ingredient residue, but he smelled of spice and musk in one. Two of his fingers tipped up my chin, and I licked my lips.

"Her pupils are huge, Lucius," he said. "Lestrange must have paid off the bartender."

"I thought as much," Malfoy said lazily. His hand hadn't left my shoulder. His thumb started working lazy circles on the nape of my neck. I could feel the callous there drag over my skin, along the clavicle, and back again. His thumb seemed very talented. I wanted to feel more of it. I struggled to focus my thoughts. Lucius was talking. "He's been using the same technique for twenty years. No originality whatsoever."

I found that I didn't really care I had been drugged. Malfoy's hand dripped lower on my back, and I couldn't help the small moan that escaped my lips.

"Couldn't we just have a little fun. Severus?" Lucius mused.

Snape sighed. "It doesn't usually affect them quite this strongly, from what I remember. Voluptatem doesn't usually have obviously identifiable physical symptoms. Perhaps he gave her the wrong dosage. He's prone to careless mistakes like that." Snape's voice was so deep, I reflected. It crawled over my skin, down my spine, and nestled somewhere between my legs. I wanted to crawl into Snape's robes, straddle him, and make him groan into my ear as I dirtied his nice trousers.

The things I was thinking were genuinely filthy now. The combination of Malfoy's hand and Snape's voice was intoxicating. I had never felt like this before.

"We can't leave it, Lucius."

"I suppose," Malfoy sighed. "With the way the Ministry's been in my business lately, I suppose it wouldn't be wise." His eyes narrowed. "It is strange that she is so affected."

I forced myself to speak. "You said it was Voluptatem?" Both men jerked, as if they'd forgotten I could talk.

"Yes," Snape said. "It's a mild—"

"I know what it is." I cut him off. He was assuming I didn't know the more obscure and less-obvious-acting lust potions, but that didn't surprise me. He'd never given me enough credit in the subject. Why should now, when I was wearing a different body be any exception? I sighed and rested my head against the back of the booth. I had to leave, but Snape was between me and the exit. I knew he wouldn't let me leave.

Besides, there was a part of me that didn't want to leave at all.

I bit my lip, hesitating, then slid onto his lap to straddle him. I could hear Malfoy's intake of breath as the gauzy skirt of my robe rose even further up the creamy skin of my borrowed thighs. Beneath me, Snape was warm and solid. He watched me, but said nothing, did nothing to resist me. His shoulders were surprisingly sold beneath my hands. I hummed in approval, leaned in to whisper to him. My lips brushed against the outer shell of Snape's ear, and I could feel a small, controlled shudder run through him. So he was a man, after all. "It must have reacted to the Asphodel," I whispered.

And then I kissed him. His lips were, very briefly, reluctant, then suddenly yielding under mine. I tugged against his lower lip, then slowly, deliberately explored his mouth. My legs slid wider as I pressed against him, pressing myself ever closer. Beneath me, I could feel him draw a ragged breath. One of his hands rose to my lower back, tugging me against him.

This close to Snape, I could see that his dark eyes weren't black, only a very dark brown. I could see his pupils, blown and wide, and between my legs I could feel his hard length. I slid against it, very slightly, and his breath hitched. Oh yes. The idea that I had that kind of power over Severus Snape, he of the scathing words and scornful comments … it was a heady feeling. Just for a moment, I savored it.

But there was a reason I was practically riding Snape, and it wasn't just because I wanted to strip off his clothes with my teeth. He was between me and the exit.

Still … He felt so good as I brushed against him. I grasped his shoulders as I moved; they were more muscular than I was expecting. I licked my lips.

Snape chucked darkly, and one of his hands dropped between us, under my robe and into my flimsy, unresisting lingerie. A long, calloused finger slid into my folds, brushed over my clitoris. I shuddered, clutching him and watching helplessly as Snape pulled his hand free. Slowly and with intention, he tasted his finger.

"Oh Merlin," I whispered.

"Reacted with what, Flora?" Snape asked, his eyes fixed on mine. His voice seemed deeper than usual. "Which potion did you take?"

Oh, he was good. But I really shouldn't have expected anything else. I bit my lip, knowing that I had to leave. "Never mind," I said. My voice was barely a whisper. "Thank you for rescuing me, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Snape." Quickly, I pushed myself off him, forced myself to take advantage of my position to access the exit and leave the booth. I was swaying, but I knew it was only a matter of time before he knew I wasn't who I was pretending to be, and when he did, I shuddered to think of what would happen.

I swayed in my heels as I stood. The room spun slightly before solidifying. Images were very slightly blurry and indistinct. This was so not good. I forced myself to move with quick, decisive steps toward the nearest exit.

But they followed me, of course. One of Snape's large hands grabbed my left arm, and, without thinking about it, I found that I had drawn my wand. The tip pressed against his throat, even as I swayed unsteadily. "Hands off, Mr. Snape."

He glared at me, but said nothing. I blinked at him, stepped closer, and ran a hand through his hair, smiling. "It's soft," I said. "Just … soft." Merlin. I really had to leave.

I turned, and his arm grabbed me again.

"I'm trying to help you."

I smiled. "You've done enough, Professor." I shook my head. "Polyjuice. I'm under—"

"But that's impossible," Lucius said. He'd approached with Snape, although in my state, I hadn't noticed. "You've been here …" His eyes widened, and he looked over at Snape, communicating silently. To my dismay, I found myself locked between their bodies. Lucius had a grip on my wand arm that I couldn't have broken, even if I hadn't been so drugged.

We moved across the now-empty dance floor, past an office area. I knew what was coming. I had given away too much. I was so dizzy, but I knew this was my last chance. If Professor Snape learned I knew about his potion, if he learned who I was at all, there would be hell to pay.

As we passed the exit, I stumbled in my heels, slipping from Snape's insistent grasp of my arm. Beneath the arch of one very high heel I had taped a tiny vial of powdered stinging Manticore pheromones. I held my breath, tugged it free with trembling fingers, and smashed it on the floor. Both men immediately began gagging as the horrible, caustic fumes filled the hallway.

I ducked for the exit, fell through the wards, and raced into the night air. Behind me, I could feel the stray edge of a hex, likely a Stunner, but thankfully it didn't hit me. I ran until I knew it was safe and apparated away.

~~~~~HG*****HG~~~~~

It was a narrow escape, and once I'd sobered up from my unfortunate portion reaction, I promised myself I wouldn't be so reckless again. I meant it, I think, but at the same time, the memory of the way Snape had felt underneath me, of how I had affected him lingered. I didn't know if I would ever be rid of it completely. I reminded myself firmly, though, that it was Flora he had reacted to, not me.

If I'd had a week to recover, perhaps things would have happened differently later. But they called an Order meeting the very next day. It was a surprise; after all, the war was over. It was also just my luck, needing to face one of the world's greatest masters of legilimancy only hours after he had learned that someone with access to his chambers, someone clever, someone versed in potions, stole a formula from him. After all, Snape might be challenged in regards to the color wheel, but he was certainly no idiot. The list of people who could have cracked his Muggle cipher and had the opportunity to do so was a short one, indeed.

When you added the assumption that they were either gay or female, the list became even shorter.

In fact, it might as well have been a list of one.

I was so screwed.

At times of stress, I always reverted to logic for comfort. I reassured myself as I get ready for the meeting by listing points in my head:

**Point One:** The post war period was chaotic. There was a point during the battle when, the Hogwart's wards were down, and anyone could have entered Snape's chambers.

I twirled a stray curl between my ring and pinky fingers. A stray hair got caught in my ring, making me wince in pain. My thoughts consumed me. Would he be able to tell I had broken his wards? I didn't believe I had left any traces. Still.

**Point Two:** Snape had always underestimated me. Mocked me. Dismissed my intelligence as being something rote rather than intellectual, perhaps akin to an otherwise mentally challenged person reciting the unabridged dictionary verbatim. Even if he placed me on a list of suspects, his prejudices were likely to prevent him from taking me seriously.

**Point Three:** Would Snape really be able to connect the stripper who nearly gave him a mess in his robes with the persistently annoying student Hermione Granger? Unlikely. If he did, his brain might explode. This fact was, by far, the most comforting.

**Point Four:** Even if by some chance, Snape did overcome all of his prejudices and connected me to Flora, had no proof, and he couldn't read me. I'd learned Occlumency during the war, and I was good at it. If he tried to pry, I would know of his suspicions immediately.

**Point Five:** I had kissed my potions professor, straddled him in the middle of a bar and rubbed up against him like a prostitute. Or (ironically enough) a stripper giving a lap dance. Snape really was a good kisser. His intensity of manner really did translate into how he was, how his hands had cupped my borrowed rear, pulled me against his hardness. And that was so not the point. At all.

**Point Six:** I was being a coward, and delaying the inevitable by mooning about almost getting off a man who hated me while in a borrowed body that I was able to use by means of a stolen potion recipe I acquired by illicit means.

I was so completely screwed.

I took a moment to gather my courage before going to the meeting with my head held high. When about to face death (or likely worse) by the hand of the head Slytherin, I told myself, it is best to go like a Gryffindor.

~~~~~HG*****HG~~~~~

The rain blanketing London in a hazy drizzle misted, but did not permeate, the weather-charmed windows of the library at Grimmauld Place. There were only a few lights lit and floating near the ceiling of the room, mainly candles and one flickering lantern. Even though Harry had worked to make the place more livable, his changes to the dark old residence had only gone skin deep. I shivered and pulled my cardigan tighter.

"Welcome, old friends," Minerva said. Her voice was thin and reedy, and she gave us all a sincere, if tight, smile. After the Battle, I noticed that she seemed so very grim and weary. Too many of her young students died in the war, I think, and then there were the other losses, many of whom—most of whom, likely—she had taught.

The last time I had seen her was just before the school year, and that only by floo chat and owl. I didn't resent her for not seeing me in person; it's not like Dumbledore ever did. And the truth was that I didn't really want her to see me in person for any length of time, nor ask me how I was doing.

I image she knew, anyway. The same as we all were..

At that night's meeting, I was, despite my feeling of dread and nerves, happy to see that the Headmistress looked better, but older, as if in the space of months she'd gone from late middle age to genuinely elderly. I suppose we all looked older now. "Some of you may be surprised that I called this meeting—"

"Is this really necessary, Minerva?" Molly Weasley asked, and she was someone who does not look better. There were circles under her eyes, and lines around her mouth I had never noticed before. It was clear she was still grieving. "It's not that I don't see the need, eventually," she said. "But I, personally, feel it's too soon."

There were fifteen others at the meeting, scattered throughout the room, because no one wanted to take the chair where a fallen comrade used to sit. All of us were missing neighbors, here, except Ron: he and Harry always sat to my right, and this night was no exception. To my left were two empty spaces where Tonks and Remus used to sit. I glanced at the chairs, and suddenly, my petty concerns with Snape seemed less than minor. When had I become so petty?

Speak of the devil, and he shall … send his head poisoner. In the corner of my eye, I saw Snape enter silently. He sat in the very back, in the row directly behind ours, in albeit behind the chair that was Remus' and not near Harry and Ron. I could tell that they didn't notice him, and I had no doubt this was by design. He crossed his arms across his chest, and I had a flash of his strong arms around me in the booth. I forced my attention to the front again. The plan I had was to ignore Snape, pretend I didn't see him at all, and then flee like a bloody coward.

I saw no flaw in my plan whatsoever. And seeing him now, intimidating in his long limbs and black robes … honestly, it seemed quite sensible.

Minerva nodded at Mrs. Weasley's words. "I understand your concern, Molly, and you are correct: it is sooner than I'd wished. However, some disturbing news has come to light that will explain my actions further."

At this, of course, she had our complete attention, and I found thoughts of Snape pushed to the very back of my mind. I am horrified by what I hear. The more militant of the Death Eaters, it seemed, had decided to carry on their Lord's dream, for as long as they could. Or perhaps they simply wanted to take out as many as possible before they got the dementor's Kiss in Azkaban. Or maybe they'd just gone crazy. For whatever reason, two Muggle villages had been demolished so far, both home to known Muggleborns involved in the war effort.

I stare at Minerva fixedly, not meeting the gazes around me, as I felt several gazes on mine. I couldn't retrieve my parent's memories. Most of the Order was told I sent them away, but not the details. It was natural they'd assume, now that things were calm and the war was over, that my parents have returned from hiding. I can feel the burn in my eyes, and I lock my jaw as I continue to focus on McGonagall. Finally, the feeling passed.

"Lest you think this retribution is confined to those of mixed blood, this is far from the case. Threats, and in one case, a heavily cursed object, were received by two prominent Pureblood families who were neutral during the war. It is probable that the only thing saving them from attacks is the higher level of warding on Pureblood ancestral homes."

My mind is still on my parents, of course. In the corner of my eye, I can see Ron move to nudge Harry, point at me, but I don't react. The familiar refrain goes through my mind. I could have settled for a _Fidelus_. I could have. But I would have had to be the secret keeper. I could have moved them by Muggle means, but I didn't have time. I had to help Harry, and I knew that convincing them would take resources I didn't have. And it would have required going with them; they would have insisted on nothing less.

I shook my head, snapping out of it. I did what I had to do. The meeting was over, and I stood with the others. Ron tugged my arm, and I blinked at him in surprise.

"Bad luck, Hermione," he said, giving a lopsided smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Just ignore him if he gives you any trouble. The man might have come back from the dead, but it hasn't improved his temper any, I reckon."

I had no idea what he was talking about for a moment. Then I replay the last of what McGonagall said at the end, while I was thinking, and I realized: we're being split into teams to investigate these incidents of activity.

Evidently, I had been assigned to Snape. I cursed inwardly and violently.

"If you ask me, the Aurors should be handling this one," Ron said, and I could hear the too-obvious pride in his voice at being an Auror trainee. I hoped for his sake they never peg him for undercover work.

As if on cue, I felt a presence, and a voice cut through Ron's effortlessly. Scathingly. "Then it's fortunate for you that none of us are asking for your opinion, now isn't it?" I glanced back over my left shoulder to see Snape's lips twist in a scornful smile, forward to observe Ron's face beginning to match his hair.

"See you later, Hermione," Ron muttered. His voice was strained, and I know he had to leave or say something stupid. Ron was starting to mature, after all. Maybe.

Which left just Snape and I standing awkwardly. Before the bar, I hadn't actually seen the man since the end of the war. Despite ostensibly being my potions professor, he hadn't taught me in my final year, and he'd referred me to Slughorn for any "no-doubt needless-but-urgent-questions you might require." "

All of this done solely by owl, of course. In pointed, slanting red ink.

Master Snape," I said quietly. "I was pleased to learn you survived. Shocked, of course, but pleased."

I forced myself not to fidget. I knew I looked good, or as well as Hermione Granger could look in her own body. My hair was down and tamed into ringlets, my Muggle clothes were stylish, expensive, and tasteful. My sole concession to my nervousness was to twist with my ring.

Snape regarded me for a moment, saying absolutely nothing, just staring at me expressionlessly. I felt a brush against my mental barriers, and I sighed, looking away.

_This is going to be a long assignment if you insist on trying things like that, _I think. I form the words into focused points and place them on the outside of my mental barriers, like someone might place a package outside their front door. And with that door image in mind, I slammed it closed. Melt it back into the wall from which it appeared.

Snape's eyebrow raised, the first response I'd gotten from him. "I see," he said quietly. His eyes were so intense, so utterly black. I stared at him, reminded of staring into those eyes before, in the dark, feeling him, and of how the irises are not really black at all.

It almost seemed as if he was about to say something else when Molly came by with our address, and the moment was broken. Before I could recover, Snape had his hand on my arm, and, quite abruptly, we were somewhere else entirely.

~~~~~HG*****HG~~~~~

I didn't try and engage Snape in conversation. I remained silent as we entered the residence, casting diagnostic and revealing charms. There was blood that had been _Scorgified_ in front of the bathroom sink, and a toothbrush on the tile floor. From that and the state of the bedroom, it was clear the family had been taken. My heart sank, and I took a deep breath.

When I finally holstered my wand, I looked over to see Snape staring at me strangely. I raised my eyebrows in question. "Problem, professor?"

Snape coughed and glanced away, then back at me, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I've taken Draco Malfoy as my apprentice," he said.

My eyebrows crept higher. Luckily, I'd already known this, thought through this conversation. "And?"

He pursed his lips. "Must I state that you were the one who owled me, not the other way around, Miss Granger?"

I affected a blank look. "Yes, and you made it exquisitely clear you would not take me as an apprentice. Wild Griffins could use your organs as tea doilies before you would allow my person in your laboratory in a voluntary capacity; I believe were your exact words." I didn't actually believe; I knew precisely. "I assure you, Master Snape, I received your message clearly."

There was a short silence. Snape had an odd look on his face, almost as if he looked uncomfortable. It must have." I may have … overstated the depth of my negativity in the matter," he said. "It hardly matters. I simply assumed you would wish to know."

I wondered if this was what passed as polite consideration for Severus Snape. I looked away. Summoning the same formidable willpower I'd used during the war, I made my voice distant and cold. I had heard the same tone in Narcisse Malfoy's voice once in Diagon Alley_._

"I see. I thank you for the information. However, your news is unnecessary, as I have secured another position."

Snape stared at me. No doubt he had thought I was his only choice. If so, he was mistaken. "And with whom have you contracted?"

I kept the same tone in my voice. Why shouldn't I? After all, I was _impossible_. "I fail to see how that is any of your concern, Master Snape. Now, as we are done here, I will be leaving. Good night."

I knew I was being petty. And it was true, I had wronged the man, copied his potion formula, riffled through his books He'd kept Harry and I alive for years.

I knew all of this, and I could feel my inner strength begin to waver. I twisted my ring nervously. In the dark, under the skin of my lips, those scathing lips that did nothing but cut me to ribbons, they'd felt so warm and accepting. I remembered the slight, sharp herbal smell he'd had, how it concentrated at the join of his ear and his neck.

I shook away the thoughts. I forced myself to think of how scornful his letters had been. How two of them had actually almost made me cry. He'd called me "misguided" in my wish to pursue potions. "Stunted in the area of original thought." And all of that was before he'd become truly rude.

My doubt eased. Those letters, written after the fall of the Dark Lord. He had no more part to play. And he had given the job to Draco.

A strong hand caught my arm. "I'm afraid I must insist, Miss Granger."

I allowed my fury to show in my eyes then, just a little, and was rewarded by a widening of his eyes. "Because you are entitled as my former professor?" I allowed the scorn on my voice leak through. "Fine, Professor. If you must know, I'll be studying under Madame Grisaldi. I believe you've heard of her." I knew he had. After all, she had trained him, until they had a falling-out and he switched to a Potions Master favored by the Dark Lord. Madame Grisaldi was widely regarded as one of the foremost Potions Mistress in Europe.

She was a Muggleborn, like me, and unimpressed with lineage and pedigree. She was able to see what I had done without prejudice.

As a tiny added bonus, she despised Professor Snape.

I continued. "She's subsidizing my training and has offered to allow me continue my current Charms studies under Flitwick in my spare time." I smiled sweetly, knowing that she had denied Snape that very thing. It was the reason for his prejudice against wandwork in Potions, I was certain of it, for there were a great many higher-level potions that called for charms in conjunction.

I savored the look on Snape's face. I moved in for the kill. "Madame Grisaldi was very impressed with my work during the war. She called it intuitive, creative, and daring." I pulled my arm away from Snape's loosened grip.

"I'll be leaving," I said quietly. "Goodbye Professor Snape." I took a last look at him before He'd collected himself while I was speaking and there was a new, strange expression on his face, one unfamiliar to me.

"Goodbye, Miss Granger," he said. "Or … should I say, Flora?"

I froze. Swallowed.

Snape stepped forward, very close, and leaned down slightly. His lips were next to my ear. "I debated saying something," he said, "because, you see, Miss Granger, although you may not believe this, I understand you very well."

I found I couldn't move. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came. Snape said, "You see, after the first war, I had the same problem. It's the adrenaline, and you've been exposed to it for most of your life. Some people can go back to a life without it, and they're fine. Relieved, even. But some can't. And you're one of those, aren't you, Miss Granger?

"You don't want the war, but part of you … craves that feeling, of being on edge, of being in _danger_, even though you're a little … ashamed." His voice dropped. "Does this sound familiar to you, Miss Granger?"

I couldn't deny it. I nodded. "How …" I sighed, "How did you know?"

Snape's hand moved to my upper arm. With one hand, he trailed his fingers against the fabric of the coat I was wearing. "I knew about your problem because I recognize the signs. There has been some talk of your Muggle … extreme sports, I think they call it, and Molly Weasley isn't the quietest witch." With one hand, he pushed back my hair, exposing my ear completely. "You seek out the risky, the reckless, the almost dangerous in order to feed the high." He paused. "You, Miss Granger … are an addict."

And then, with one hand, he turned my head, and he kissed me. Our lips slid together, mine opened beneath his, and he claimed my mouth. One of his hands moved to the small of my back to hold me against him, and he kissed me, slowly and ruthlessly.

My mind cleared. I felt … alive. He was right, of course. This was exactly what I needed.

When he finally released me and stepped back, I sagged slightly. There was a dull throbbing between my legs, and I could still feel the warmth of his body pressed against mine. He'd smelled precisely the same.

Snape's eyes were intense on mine. "That's what I thought," he said. "You can keep the potion. Show no one else, including your new Mistress."

I nodded wordlessly, and he smiled, the first genuine-looking smile I'd ever seen on his face. "In that case, I wish you much success in France, Miss Granger. Do try and remove significant pieces of jewelry during your next foray with my Polyjuice."

I looked down at my ring ruefully. "Yes," Snape said, "that. Do you know how many times over the years I've seen you twist that ring, Miss Granger?"

I felt breathless, a little horrified, and even more horrified that I was somehow turned on. "You .. knew who I was?"

"Not then, and not right away. But later I put the pieces together. It's not often someone can deceive me for any length of time, Miss Granger. I think that once you return, we may be able to help each other. If you like."

I frowned at him, confused. And then I realized. The urge I had for adrenaline, For danger. I stared at him, feeling overwhelmed. I licked my lips.

Snape's smile turned knowing. "Goodbye Miss Granger," he said. "I'll see you in three years."

And with that, he turned on his heel, and apparated away.

~~~~~HG*****HG~~~~~

I look up now, from my journal, at these quarters that have served me so well. I leave France in three days … I tell myself, surely Snape will have forgotten by now.

~~~~~HG*****HG~~~~~

A/N: Thanks for reading—please review! :)


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